#the final 'addio' just...explodes

[johnny1note]

Why do all the best live opera performances sound like they've been recorded underwater 😩

[swanscript]

in which you're aegon's legally-wedded and never-bedded wife - who cares so little for him that even he's noticed.

It is the hour of the bat, deep into the velvety night, and you'd had it all planned out. Your sheets are fresh. You've bathed in lavender scented water, and spent half the day drying your hair carefully by the fireside so it won't become ruffled. You've just slipped on a rose-coloured robe of the finest Dornish silk, and wriggled delightedly into bed when it happens.

The door to your bedchambers explodes open, and Aegon staggers in, roaring a drunken sea shanty.

Oh, how you hate men.

"So hey, the bonny sailors go

To Sothoryos with a rising 'ho'!"

"Aegon," you start, pushing yourself up on your pillows with the air of someone explaining something to a very stupid child. "It's late. I'm tired."

Aegon stops dead when he sees you, sitting prettily in his bed with your arms folded in bemusement. You don't think he expected to see you here. You often sleep in a different room, and when sharing his bedchambers you make it a point to keep him firmly on the other side of the mattress.

Aegon and you both know the castle staff whispers rumours of your strange and sex-less relationship. You don't care.

Aegon might, but you've decided not to care about him either. He's aware of your cold indifference - which is why he's so surprised to see you here.

"....well," he says, swaying where he stands. "If it isn't...my frigid lady-wife. Here to ice me out again?"

You don't rise to the bait. "I'm here to sleep. You're welcome to do the same."

"Oh, I'm welcome, am I? Welcome in my own bed?" Aegon hiccoughs, slowly undoing the clasps on his velvet jerkin. He lets it thud to the floor (you can bet a hundred gold dragons he'll trip over it first thing tomorrow) and begins to traipse your way. "Am I permitted to finally lay a finger on my lawful wife, or will she only let me hold her hand for appearance's sake at banquets?"

Hackles rising, you bite back at once. "Am I permitted to have a husband who doesn't fuck a different whore every night? Who doesn't reek of of alcohol? Am I permitted to not be abandoned each day for taverns and brothels? Am I permitted to sleep or must I take your leave for that too, lord-husband?"

If Aegon were sober, he might have a scalding remark in response. But the ale has filled his mind with mush, and all he can do is scowl and sulk. It doesn't please you to see him so miserable. Your heart isn't in the fight either.

Your husband thuds onto the bed with a heavy sigh, narrowly missing squashing you.

"...help me with the clasp then, if nothing else," he mutters, pointing at his bejeweled belt buckle.

Sighing, you concede, reaching forward and undoing the cool metal. It clicks apart under your deft hand, and you steal a glance up at your supposed husband.

Months of marriage, and the times when you've ever really looked at him are few and far in between. After a disasterous bedding ceremony and so many days of neglect, the two of you have learnt to not acknowledge each other's presence. As a result, Aegon's face never fails to stand out as unique to you.

Soft cloud of wispy silver hair. Eyes of pale amethyst. The classic Targaryen look - striking colour palette, ghostly shades of old Valayria. The hint of feminine features from his mother softens him. He looks lost now, his pouty mouth softly sagging with defeat. A little verbal joust with you has leeched all the revelry out of him. Right, now, soundly beaten as he is, Aegon is difficult to despise.

You tug the belt out of its loops and he mutters his slurred gratitudes.

"Can you do the rest on your own?"

He grunts in affirmative. You retreat back to your side. Both of you feel the invisible wall being drawn up between once more.

You know, when you really think about it, you suppose Aegon is a handsome man. When he's not drunk. Or bothering you just before you sleep with sappy, obnoxious questions.

"Do you love me?"

You stop in the middle of adjusting your coverlet. "What?"

Aegon is looking at you with not a hint of a joke in his eyes. He repeats the impossible possibility. "Do you love me?"

In daylight, you would have sneered at his question and swept off in a swirl of silk skirts to resume your royal day. Now, with moonshine softening the need for sharp exteriors, you decide to humour his question. No one is around to use your words against you, at least. You feel your guard lift an inch.

"Love you?" you ponder, leaning back against your richly embroidered pillows. "...I think I would be...distressed, if you died. But love you- I don't even like you." You glance his way, contemplating. "Yet."

Aegon looks at you with doubtful lilac eyes. "So there's hope?"

"Don't be too optimistic."

His face, already miserable with the weight of alcohol and fractured familial relationships, turns slightly more sour. You're not foolish. Aegon's agonies don't have much to do with you. His mother, hell-bent on making him king, and his brother, hell-bent on undermining and embarrassing him at every opportunity are his chief worries. You've never seeked to hurt him politically. But you've always remained distant, watching him carefully like a narrow-eyed cat and hissing if he gets too close. There's only so much your pride can allow after being man-handled into a strategic marriage so roughly.

But right now, weak and addled as he is, you can afford some kindness.

"Don't look so down, Aegon," you say softly. "Perhaps I'm Dorne. Eternally un-won by Targaryens."

The gentleness works - Aegon unticks like a clam and lets words come pouring out.

"I keep thinking... really feeling as though you would prefer my brother Aemond over me. Or that he would like you, at the very least. And that grasping bastard, Jacaerys." A flash of anger splits Aegon's face. "I see how he moons over you across the dinner table. Like he'd like you lay you out on his dinner plate and take bites out your skin. Take what's mine. My wife, by law if not by her own will. Mine. My skin. My soft, soft skin. I should kill him. Cunt."

Weak, you think, watching his messy torrent of emotions. Your father would have flayed you living for such risky honesty in a world so tightly controlled by reputation. Always say less than necessary. Never trust anyone, ever.

As it is, you carefully file this new information away in your head. Aemond desiring you in a marriage seems in line with his ambitious nature - your family's legendary wealth would serve him well. You doubt he cares for you as a person.

And Jacaerys.... you've seen him ogling at you a couple of times when you're really dressed to the nines, but you doubt it's anything worth thinking about. Men have always watched you in that hungry way. You have genetics to thank for that, nothing more. It doesn't aid you, ultimately.

Aegon is still muttering away darkly. "I should kill him. Cut off his riding chains so he goes screaming into the sea the next time he mounts his dragon. I think that'll fix him-"

"Don't think," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You're not particularly excellent at it, from what I've heard. I heard you thought Sir Arryk was a particularly buxom woman from behind."

Aegon sniffs. "An engraved band in his hair. What was he prettying up for, the flagstones in the corridors? I don't fancy a preening peacock guarding me."

"See, Aegon, you're lying again. And it's unneeded and strange. You were only drunk and made a wine-swayed misjudgement," you say wearily. "And you don't think he's a peacock. You think you're a peacock. You've been matching your socks with your shoes since the day I knew you."

Aegon laughs, soft and bitter.

"If you know me so well, why do you pretend your dislike is only from distance? ...you hate me because you know me. You've always...always hated me."

In sulking speech, Aegon has slowly tipped in your direction, his head inches from yours. He's too drunk and too non-commital to rearrange himself. You allow his hair to touch your silk sleeve. Pink fabric, his ash white hair fanning across it.

Then, without even really thinking or caring, you sigh and pull him onto your chest to hold him there like a babe.

"I've already said, I don't hate you."

Aegon is too drunk to jab or pull back. He lays there. You run fingers through his hair, smoothening the scattered strands into place, sorting his thoughts into neat furrows. Sleepy tears spread a wet spot onto your robe. You allow it, even through fuzzled bafflement at such weakness. What does he want, to suck on your teat? He's older than you, yet you're centuries harder. Aegon - too soft a boy for his over-reaching mother - falls asleep in barely sated turmoil, on your chest like a barely grown child.

You allow it.

[mistabullets]

His Cupcake

Word Count: 1.4k

Characters: Mista Guido x Fem!Reader

Content: afab reader, she/her pronouns, cunnilingus, eating out, vaginal fingering, teasing

Summary: Your boyfriend has been gone on a mission for a few days and you decide to treat him to a pleasant surprise. 

Not SFW under cut ;

The last time you saw the gunslinger, it was three days ago; aware of his line of work, you waited anxiously for Mista’s return. The occasional anxiety would bubble in the pit of your stomach and tighten at your heart. But you knew of your boyfriend’s skills, you trusted in him and his stand’s abilities. He gave you a call the night before, washing away all the tension built up, and informed you he should be home tomorrow evening. Relieved filled you when you heard Mista called you by your cute yet silly nickname. “Don’t worry, pasticcina. The mission was a walk in the park. Can’t wait to see you and your cute face tomorrow~”

You giggled, hearing your boyfriend’s enthusiasm through the phone, “Give Signore Bucciarati my regards. Make it home safe, caro. I love you.”

“Sure thing, ti amo anch’io! Addio~” he said, ever so sweetly followed by a click. From the tone of his voice and having spent the past hour on the phone, he had missed you. You decided to treat him to something special for his return. A light bulb flickered in your head and you found yourself rummaging through your dresser, looking for something in particular. After a couple minutes, you had found a raunchy lingerie set Mista had bought you just a week ago. The print was a bit tacky, with red and black leopard print (of course, your boyfriend was obsessed with leopard and cheetah patterns on himself and especially you). You double-checked and made sure it fit you; while you did not particularly like the design, you had to admit, it hugged your curves quite nicely. 

You could not wait for your polpetto to return home.

**

The following evening, you were alerted by the sound of the front door, the knob jiggling, and rattling as someone unlocked it. You grinned ear to ear as you heard your boyfriend open the door, calling for you. He kicked off his shoes and made sure to lock the door behind him. “Pasticcina, I’m home!” Mista announced, breaking the silence. You giggled softly before making your presence known, “Caro, come to the bedroom~” you called for him, adding honey to every syllable articulated. A wolfish beam was forming on his lips, as he made his way to the bedroom you two shared. 

The door swung open and he was pleasantly greeted your body, sprawled out on the bed in a seductive pose. He noticed your choice of lingerie, elated by the fact you were finally wearing it. It was just too bad he was going to rip that off your body. Mista stalked up to the bed, predatory and a hungry glint to his dark eyes, before pouncing on you like a cat. You giggled but gasped from the clothed erection brushed up against your thigh. “Babe, you have no idea how much I missed you. I was thinking all about you on the way home.”

 “G-Guido,” just his words caused your thighs to rub up against each other, aware of the ache in your heat. Mista took note, chuckling at your desperation. “Seems like you missed me too,” he teased before nestling on top of your smaller figure. He crashed his mouth onto yours. His kisses were messy but passionate nonetheless; you whimpered into his mouth as his hands explored the familiar road map of your body. He stopped at one of his favorite spots, your breasts, and gave them a playful squeeze. Seizing the opportunity, he pushed his tongue into your warm orifice, the taste of you always savory. 

After ravishing your mouth with sloppy lip actions, his attention was drawn to the column of your neck and the bare collarbone. He peppered kisses, making sure to suckle and leave bruising marks throughout his exploration. Nimble and trained fingers unhooked your bra, his tongue wanting to have a taste of your delicious nipples, hardened by the cool air. His mouth engulfed the bud with moist warmth while your unattended nipple tweaked between Mista’s fingers. Your hands found the crown of your lover’s head, slipping off the hat and throwing it into the floor along with your bra. Digits carded roughly through a mess of beautiful dark, curly locks. 

“God, Y/N, mio dolce pasticcina, I’m so hungry for you,” Guido groaned against your skin, grinding himself against the mattress. He left ghost kisses across the abdomen; he trailed closer to his designation, to the apex of your thighs. He easily managed to spread your legs and anticipation bubbled in your stomach. Shamelessly, he pressed his mouth against your clothed sex, lapping his tongue against the wet spot and drinking it up. His thumbs hooked into the hem of your panties, quite sad to discard the lingerie. But he was eager to devour your core and having you wailing his name, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

“G-God--please, Guido, hurry up--” you begged. While he would relish in your moans and take it a step further, Mista was just as eager to savor the essence of you. Hastily, he tore the panties clinging to your core. He took a moment to admire the pretty shade of your pussy, spreading the plush lips of sex. 

Mista laughed, glancing up to see your cheeks radiating a pretty red blush. One of your hands was tangled in his curls and the other tightened their grip on the bedsheets. God, you were so cute like this—

“Well babe, bon appetit~” he chimed in as he buried his face between your thighs. God, he was stupid, but he was stupidly good with his tongue. The fleshy appendage left a strip across the slit of your head before probing at your entrance. Moaning his name, you tightened your grasp in his black locks, which edged to go further. Mista placed one hand on your inner thigh, giving it a light squeeze and caress, while the other made work at teasing your clit. His index and middle fingers pressed against the pink pearl, rubbing with merciful intent. You gasped, feeling the tip of your boyfriend’s tongue push inside your aching heat, the coil in your stomach becoming more unbearable, seeking to spring free. Guido proceeded to fuck your cunt with merely his tongue for what for like a blissful eternity; your juices tasted so sweet to him, like a cupcake. His gaze took a glimpse of a pleasured face; eyes blown out, mouth wide open, and your moans and whimpers becoming louder and louder—

“Keep your eyes on me, bambina,” he grunted, edge slipped through his tone.

His mouth and fingers swapped place. Mista’s lips attacked your sensitive clit while fingers plunged into your tight walls, buried to the hilt. While his mouth made work, sucking in the swollen bud of your core and pressing his tongue against it, his digits curled and scissored up against your sweet spot. White stars hit your vision, as you felt your orgasm fast approaching. You pushed your boyfriend impossibly closer to sex, his nose tickling against the skin of your labia. Mista knew you were getting close, just from your eyes and the grip you had on his hair. Applying more luscious force and pressure, he continued with his ministrations, but tenfold. You let out a delectable moan, bordering on a scream. “G-Guido--I’m going to cum, I-I’m cumming--!”

“Cum for me, mio pasticcina~” he commanded ever so sweetly, dark orbs watching your beautiful form come undone and you did, your velvet heat clenching on to your boyfriend’s fingers, gushing out the juices Mista craved. The white stars exploded, and coil snapped in your stomach, as your orgasm finally reached, causing your body to shake and convulse. Mista let you ride out your orgasm, nibbling on your clit and finger fucking the tight heat of your cunt. Once you came down from your high, he proceeded to drink up your cum, pulling his thick fingers out from your spent pussy. 

“You must taste yourself, bambina,” Mista said, coming up toward your lips and giving you a passionate kiss. You smile against it, wrapping your heavy arms around your boyfriend, enjoying the taste of you. 

You felt his erection up against your thigh again and he grinned devilishly at you, as you let out a slight yelp. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” he teased, giving you another messy kiss, already starting to work himself up again. 

And he was right. For your polpetto was a man who liked his dessert first.

[okimargarvez]

EVERY FAREWELL BRINGS WITH IT A NEW BEGINNING- Wheels up

Original title: Ogni addio porta con sé un nuovo inizio.

Prompt: 13x01, 13x05.

Warning: character’ death.

Genre: angst, family, romantic, drama, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Tara Lewis, Stephen Walker, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, Matt Simmons, Mark, Diana Reid, Will LaMontagne, other BAU family members.

Pairing: Garvez, Emily x Mark, JJ x Will, Spencer x Maeve, Matt x Kristy.

Note: 2 oneshot.

Legend: 💏😘🔦🐶⚰.

Song mentioned: none.

Note: I written this almost a year ago, before watching the 13th Season Premiere. There is a second part, dedicated on episode 13x05 (Lucky strikes). What I wanted to see. I’ve tried to write as it was a screenplay. Less descriptions and more dialogues.

Every Farewell Bring With It A New Beginning- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

EVERY FAREWELL BRINGS WITH IT A NEW BEGINNING

 Previously

A very loud noise, indeed, more than one. The bang of exploding tires, first the front ones and then the rear wheels. The screeching brakes of the asphalt.

A female voice: -Is everyone OK?-

-Yeah.- another woman, after a break of consultation. Sighs of relief filled the cockpits of both vehicles.

Then a sudden and blinding light. Another danger lurking. Not even time to scream. Again, a cacophony of sounds horrifying. The metal being bent by the impact. The glass that are shattered; some splinters sticking into the skin, causing superficial wounds and bleeding.

 Wheels up

Start a new gig: moaning giving way to genuine complaints.

On its own, separate from others, was hear a broken voice. Far. -Guys, what's happened?-. She doesn't get an answer. She's afraid to try again. But again, the woman speaks through a mobile miraculously survived. -Are you okay? Please give me a sign!-. sob, pulled up the nose, another sob. -Emily? JJ? Rossi? Tara? Alvez? Walker?-. It seems almost a list, a roll-call for only absents. The order isn't really random.

Anything.

Then fingers quickly press the keys, outgoing call -911, what's your emergency? -. No time to let be governed by panic.

-I'm an FBI agent, my colleagues have been hit during a mission, I need at least three ambulances at the address which I'm forwarding to you, NOW! - despite good intentions she yells and screams a bit 'too much.

-We will immediately did. Can you tell me if it was involved a firearm or...?- she stops the operator rudely.

-No, no! I think that it was a car accident but... just before I heard the bang of the tires bursting. It wasn't bad luck, it was deliberate.- she act is found to do the part of the profiler, that she had never wanted to be.

 The first thing she hear is a sharp pain in the chest, stretching the length of the chest. At the same time a kind of whining. Soon she realizes that she herself is producing that sound. The head is spinning, because they were overturned.

She opens her eyes and even that tiny gesture causes suffering. Next to her, at the wheel, there's Rossi, unconscious. All at once a groan, but not came from man. -Tara?- she feels her mouth dry, almost the impact had taken away all the saliva. The belts have become a prison. She tries not to panic and follow the procedures, learned too many years ago. She puts her hands on the roof, then with one can press the lock and release. She sighs of relief and gradually let go the grip with her feet. She finds herself sitting crooked. She looks again at Dave, who doesn't move.

Something, maybe her instinct tells her to stay alert. She peers in semi-darkness in search of her gun. She finds the weapon and holds it close to her. Turning back to Tara, still upside down, she makes a sign to remain silent. A thousandth after a blinding light illuminates the road and then the passenger compartment.

 She cleans the lenses with the rag, but those salty stains will not go away. Then she off her glasses and she put them on the desk. She looks blinking dot on her screen; fixed, always in the same position. Help is coming. She must think this, or go mad.

-I'm at the airport now, hold on, baby girl. Wait. In a moment I'll be with you.- she nods, but he can't see her. But she can't talk at this time. And it is strange, for she usually begins to rave when they are in trouble.

They knew it was risky. They were talking about this just a moment before it happened the incident. Mr. Scratch is the worse unsub that they had met.

The call ends with a click. But she can't afford to do another cycle of crying. She has something to do.

 Slender hands leaf through the pages covered with photos. Others, a bit older and wrinkled, cover the younger hand indicating a particular image. He portrays a man, a woman and a small child, in front of an institutional building.

-Here we had just returned from the science fair, which of course you won.- he smiles and it's funny, his mother remembers a piece of their lives that he, with an eidetic memory isn't able to remember, because it was really too small at the material time. He looks carefully one of the people, more than others.

Dad. I miss dad.

A simple thought for one with an IQ as him. But the woman's fingers shake his. She know it; she feels the same thing.

One annoying vibration forces him to open his eyes. It's his phone. The caller is Penelope. Instantly he understands that something bad happened. He stands up, moving away from the mother so she doesn't hear. Just when he presses the green button he was denied a chance to speak.

-Reid , the team had an accident... I sent the ambulances... no one answers... Derek is coming here... I...- he understands that she is in clear and justified drowsiness. He glances at the blonde woman sat on the couch.

-I'm coming.-

 She sees a metallic shimmer. She counts mentally two seconds. She hears Tara's breath and her own, they seem loud as the roar of a plane. She rushes forward and fires five shots in quick succession. She is sure that it's not the help. The watch Rossi leads the wrist says that only within minutes have passed from the accident and not even Garcia isn't so rapid.

She turns to Tara. She's fighting with belts and finally succeeds in.

She gives a kick to the last bits of the window glass, remained precariously together. She tries the door handle of the door, but the latter is deformed, and then fails to open it. Without thinking too much, she comes out straight out of the window, accumulating other scratches.

A pool of blood is spreading under the body of a man dressed all in black.

Behind her she hears Dr. Lewis shouts  -Rossi! Rossi, c'mon!-

 Hearing gunshots she feared the worst. Looking out, the glow has enabled her to understand that the victim wasn't one of her team, because it wasn't on the cars but outside.

-Are you all right?- to they it went better. They weren't overturned, but flipped on its side. -Luke?- no movement, however slight. -Walker?- she asks then, but is not likely to get any kind of response.

 The flashes light of ambulances.

The cries of the paramedics.

-There need to intubate! -

-B.P. is dropping!-

-We're losing him!-

Then they are transport on stretchers. People waiting sessions for less wounds serious watch helplessly that show.

-I'm fine, you have to help Walker, Rossi and Alvez!- the protests of one of the three women are settled with any simple gazes. -I said I'm fine, leave me!- she attracts everyone's attention.

-Madam, calm down. You had to be visited as the others. We are taking care of everyone.- the bed continues to wobble. A needle inserted gently into the skin.

Finally, peace and oblivion.

They hold hands as a few days before, when he was finally released from prison. That time he was in need of comfort and support. Today the roles have been reversed. Garcia is a strong person, despite all the tears that she annually weeps. He has never seen her like this. It had never happened something like that, a disaster that involved the safety of the whole team.

She doesn't know what to think, for those she has to pray. This time she can't believe that it happens a miracle and that's will right.

Something, a voice tells her that it's not.

Without even realizing it, she lost consciousness.

 -It was a Scratch's trap. I should have thought. I have examined all possibilities.- the brunette shakes her head to self-inflicted reproaches of her boss. A bandage covers her forehead, concealing a deep cut right on her eyebrow arch. Various scratches are scattered all over the face. The hospital gown doesn't take off one gram of her authority.

-Emily, don't say that. At best, it was our mistake. We had to think about any kind of variable. It wasn't your fault.- she repeats, but the other woman ignores her. The brunette runs a hand over her face, feeling tangibly her wounds.

-It was impossible to predict one such thing.- Rossi gives her help, but it's useless.

She keeps looking in the direction of the last bed. Empty.

 It was only a moment and no medical intervention was necessary. Never letting go they reach the room where the BAU members are hospitalized. Spencer runs from JJ.

-You already warned Will and the boys?- the blonde asks, without breaking away from the embrace, the computer technician nods.

-I... I called everyone I could. Morgan is coming too... – this doesn’t seem to surprise Prentiss. Not even Rossi, who giggles. When he arrives from the latter he realizes that it doesn’t add up. Someone is missing from the party. The smile goes off on her lips.

There is still another bed in the room. And there's nobody on it.

-Garcia...- she doesn’t remain there to hear an unpleasant story. Before disappearing, she glanced at Reid, who didn’t want to tell her what the doctor had told him while she was "absent".

The others look at her running away, sighing and exchanging eloquent looks.

 She washed her face several times with cold water, but every time she raises her eyes on the mirror, she sees a redness on her skin that doesn’t want to leave. She can’t stop crying.

She seems to hear a male voice making her name. She ignores it. But this insists, tries again. Anything. She recognized who these nuances and accent belong to, but it is only her mind that makes fun of her.

Suddenly the hallucination becomes tactile. Soon after a strange noise, like wheels on the floor; a hand is resting on her back. Big, certainly belongs to a man. And hot. She can feel heat even through layers of fabric.

She turns slowly, and he releases his grip.

Sitting in a wheelchair there is special agent Luke Alvez.

 -So, what we do?- the brunette went for a moment in the bathroom and when she came out wearing the gear brought by Garcia. Yes, she had thought of everything...

-We can’t do anything right now, Emily...- the paternal and condescending tone of the elder irritates her. She knows perfectly well that this is irrational sensations, but this changes things a little.

-Rossi is right. You have to rest, you are still under observation... – she chases the boy's words with her hand.

-You shouldn’t be here, rather. You should be with your mother. Good heavens, you're just back in freedom and just a few hours ago we freed Diana! What the hell are you doing in the hospital?- everyone has understood the reason for their boss's behavior; nobody takes it too much.

-We are a family, have you forgotten it? We have to stay united.- even the blonde has to add the dose. What no one says is especially at times like these.

Quick disordered flashbacks pass before their eyes.

The attack in New York.  Hotch disappeared.

Garcia in the operating room. -The bullet entered the chest and rebounded into the abdomen. She lost a lot of blood. But we managed to repair the injuries. A centimeter higher and would have crossed her heart but could be discharged in a couple of days.-.

Spencer kidnapped by a bipolar fool. -Dad, don’t do it!... Shut up, son.-.

Savannah hit while she was pregnant. Outside a hospital.

The funeral of Emily. That of the chief of the section, Erin Strauss.

-The superhighway of information is closed.- Elle almost dead.

-We have a case... it concerns Gideon...-.

JJ kidnapped and tortured while she was pregnant. Mateo Cruz, chief of the section, half dead.

Hailey killed by the Reaper. And Jack save by miracle.

The anguish, then the relief. Sometimes only despair that fades too slowly. The pain that becomes a friend to cling to.

There have already been so many times, yet each one is always different. Probability doesn’t mean certainty, but possibility. Hope.

- We must think only of Stephen. We have to pray that everything is going good.-

 -Luke?! Oh God! Oh God! You're... you're...- the man understands what she can’t say aloud. He shakes his head, without the shadow of a smile. Then he raises his leg to show her that it's nothing serious.

-It's just a dislocation. Really, Garcia. I'll just have to use crutches for a while.- now he tries to smile to reassure her. The comfort, however, lasts very little.

-Oh, then it's Walker!- for a moment he would like to protest, to say that as usual she would have preferred it was him, the one in danger of life, because he had no one who would mourn his death, while Stephen had a family, wife and sons. He was only the newbie and he would remain forever. But luckily, he manages to hold back and drive away a thought that is so selfish, yet sensible.

-Breath, Garcia!- he tries to take her by the shoulders, but from that position is too difficult. He sees that look she had during the Reid hearing. -It's in the operating room, right now.- thin consolation. That bad presentiment that has haunted her since Prentiss showed her the false message sent to Derek, is now stronger than ever.

-I have to... Oh my God! Monica and the children! They are already arrived? She will need help... - she feels herself missing again. The head turns like a crazy top. The legs are too heavy. She can’t speak anymore. Luke assists helplessly, fearing she may fall, but not knowing what to do. She leans against the wall and takes a breath. -You remember... what you told me?- she just stares him. -Now I want to cry and that someone can stand me while I do.- the tears are already peeping from the pupils and it is clear that she will not accept a no for an answer. Luke smiles sweetly. He doesn’t know how he managed to make such a confession that day. And certainly, she hadn’t taken him seriously. But now it is he who takes his responsibilities. Penelope lowers her height and hugs him. The masculine hands gently caress her back. He trembles, strives not to cry in turn.

A few sentences whisper in her ear, while a hand moves through her hair. -I'm sure you did everything you could, all the necessary calls.- her biggest enemy is herself, and it's always been so obvious. She will never be enough, up to her expectations. There will always be something that she could have done but was not able to. Something to think about. She and Prentiss are very similar. – Stop crying, stop. It's not your fault, Penelope.- and she notices once again how Luke is not Derek. The latter would have allowed her to let off steam until exhaustion. The Newbie no; he wants her next to him at the crime scene; he has the courage to tell her truth that she would prefer (it would be easier) to ignore. -It will not help Walker survive.-

 -But why are they putting so much? To wedge a leg, it doesn’t take all this time …- the anxiety has spread throughout the room. Nobody tries to comfort others. Even Spencer gave up after receiving a glare for coming out with one of his quotes. -It says no news is good news.-.

Then the noise of wheels on the floor and the door that opens makes everyone jump. Enter Luke, in a wheelchair. But even more shocking is that to push it is Garcia. They see that she cried, but this doesn’t surprise anyone.

-Are there any news?- he immediately shoots that question, aware that otherwise he will not do it again. Both Emily and Rossi shake their heads. The wait continues. Silence seems almost unreal. Only JJ notices the hand of the former task force agent gently gripping the arm of their computer technician. For a second, she wonders if something has happened between those two and promises to ask her friend. When all this will be another bad memory.

But then the door swings open and this time a doctor enters, still wearing a bloody smock, headphones and a mask. Indecipherable expression. -Are you colleagues of Agent Walker?- so many nodding heads, hands clasping each other, in a gesture of prayer, intertwined fingers. -We have done everything possible, I'm sorry, the head injury was too extensive.- the rest of the doctor's words is confused in their minds.

He can’t really be dead.

We had just met him.

Monica, poor Monica.

It's my fault, my fault, mine. Mine.

After a few minutes the ambassador of misfortunes comes out and no one can even say anything. Penelope glances at the door, but before she can even think of escaping, the hold on her arm tightens and takes her back to her duty.

They are a family, for better or for worse.

 The cry of the child lasts very little. Two pairs of arms are already ready to tighten and console him. A couple and a half. -You should not lift weights, have you forgotten what the doctor said?- the husband's sensible words don’t sound good before a mother who just wants to embrace her own fruit. -Honey, let me, I don’t make him fall!- a moment of resistance and then surrender.

She sits on the couch, abandoning herself to dead weight.

-Mummy, do you want me to help you put the jacket?- the blond child with glasses bigger than him make her smile.

-Sure, my love.-

 -I know, I know if you could you have been here.- she walks across the room, making the same route.

-I know you, Em, you want to make everyone believe that you're well, being strong enough to overcome anything by yourself... but you're not alone, love, ok? There are me and there are your colleagues. Nobody expects you to be the next Iron Lady.- but she shakes her head.

-Mark, it was my fault, if Stephen died! I'm the chief of this unit... Hotch...- he stops her before she can say other nonsense.

-Don’t say something like "Hotch would not allow it". He is a human being, like you. Such development couldn’t be foreseen.- the man on the other end of the line sighs. He passes a hand on the head. -Listen to me, I'll be there tonight. Okay?- this time she nods, but he can’t see her anyway.

She end the call without adding anything. She sits down, takes off her shoes and massages her feet. She is no longer used to putting on her heels. She far prefers something more convenient and practical.

 Trying not to be too brusquely he drives away the woman's hand.

-Mom, enough. So you're suffocating me.- he tries to loosen the tie a bit. He feels strangled. He is having a crisis. It didn’t happen to him for a while. He thought he was already free of stress for having spent six months in prison but reading at the speed of light or having a volcanic mind doesn’t save him from the human emotions of ordinary mortals. In that sphere he is vulnerable, just like everyone else.

One name seems to pass quickly in front of him. Maeve. He feels a caress on his arm. It could be a breath of wind, entered through the window that his mother left open. Before he can even take a step, the new nurse intuits what he is thinking and closes it. Yet that shiver doesn’t go away.

I'm with you, Spencer.

 -You're very well dad, really.- a laugh.

The man doesn’t turn around, he continues to admire his reflection in the mirror. He sees all the wrinkles, some white hair despite the color. And yet... not bad. Overall, it could be put much worse.

The female hand rests on his shoulder and forces him to turn around. -I'm sorry to distract you from contemplation, but you'll be late for the ceremony...- he looks at his partner and daughter, their faces both anxious.

That dress he would have preferred to put on another occasion.

 She isn’t convinced of her choice, but she doesn’t find anything better. She ponders the stupidity of the need to concentrate negative emotions on clothes that society considers suitable for the occasion.

-Tara?- the man says her name. His tone is delicate, he knows how much her sister is suffering, but she is the strong one, who doesn’t show her weaknesses. She spends her life listening to the thoughts and problems of others, while she doesn’t even consider hers. She turns to look at him. -It's time to go.- he offers her his arm and after a minute hesitation, she accepts.

 He fastens his shoes and then look at the bed. The dog is looking at him curiously, bending his head following his movements. -What's up, girl? Don’t you like it?- he using the arms to bring the wheelchair next to the mattress. -No even I wanted to put clothes like that.- he sighs, for a moment losing in his memories.

The bell rings.

He gives Roxy a caress. -She is here.- he announces, the voice a bit trembling. He moves to the entrance and opens the door. A blonde woman, entirely dressed in black, with a hat of the same color on her head, is smiling to him sadly.

-Are you ready?- she asks him, staying on the threshold. The man nods. She turns around and turns back. -We see you later, Roxy.- she greets the dog and then helps him to get off those few steps, then to get on board the car. She puts in the driver's seat. It's a strange thing, it was usually the opposite, but lately, because of the fracture, she was often found in this situation.

-Penelope...- he puts a hand on hers, already on the steering wheel. The woman turns to look at him, tightening her lips. -Are you okay?- she shakes her head, deciding to be honest. -Me too.- he says, intertwining their fingers and giving her a hold. -We will get also through this.-

-Do you think so, Luke? I'm not so sure.- she starts, without breaking the contact. -We go ahead, because there isn’t much else that can be done... as to overcome it... no.- she shakes the head again and she is necessary not to cry, not to ruin the make-up.

 Standing in front of that closed coffin, everyone tries to stand up as they can. JJ clings to Will, Rossi to his daughter, Tara and Emily remain close, Reid alone (or almost), with his hands in his pockets, Garcia behind the wheelchair of Luke, a hand on the man's shoulder, that of him on hers, without looking at each other.

In the front row a woman embraces two children, a boy and a girl, who can’t stop crying.

-The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.- a man dressed in ceremonial clothes pronounces in a solemn tone. A priest, a great friend of the Walker family. He baptized Ely and Maya, celebrating the marriage of Stephen and Monica. He didn’t think he would survive that boy who spent his afternoons helping him with the parish, instead of playing the park like everyone else.

The box is lowered, and the pit filled with earth.

It's over another day.

 -We need to take that bastard!- the brunette slams a fist on the round table, making the other members of the team jump. That empty chair stands out terribly. -It's my fault, if Stephen is dead.- now her voice seems to come from beyond the grave.

-Emily, it's not true...- the blonde expert in communication tries to contradict her.

-Yes, that is. I'm not just talking about Scratch trap. I let him come here, I wanted him to be part of this group, and now Monica no longer has a husband, two boys no longer have a father... and we've lost a fantastic person. I want the head of the son of a bitch, and I want it before this month ends!- with the last cry, she gets out of the room. With strange glances, the others gradually get up and leave. Only the computer technician and the former agent of the task force remain.

-Do you need help, Newbie?- since the incident she changed attitude, indeed, she took care of him, making him a nurse, helping him in the kitchen, taking Roxy out... basically they attended a lot in the non-working hours and have discovered to appreciate each other's company. Luke has become used too easily in the presence of the woman and at this moment he realizes that when he gets better, everything will return as before and he doesn’t know if he's ready or if he wants it. On the contrary, he knows perfectly well that he doesn’t want to start spending his free time alone. Or without her, which is about the same thing.

-No...- he answers after what seems an eternity. He returns to her own papers. -Penelope...- he finds the courage to call her, the blonde raises her head to look at him, but then her cell phone starts to sing. The man shakes his head and sighs.

-Matt?- she asks surprised. -What?- she turns her back to him, she is distracted for a moment. When she looks around, Luke is gone.

 -Welcome to the team, Simmons. I hope you'll help us capture Lewis.- the woman shakes her hand. The man with Asian features reciprocates the grasp and smiles.

-Thank you, Prentiss. I hope so too.-

 It's all dark and already the thing appears quite suspicious. JJ gives a boost to the man, forcing him to enter. On her face a strange smile. As soon as he sets foot in the meeting room, the light is rekindled and the sight hits him. The others are also stunned, all except the blonde.

-Surprise!- shouts a voice that he knows well. On the round table there are several glasses already filled with a semi-transparent liquid and even a cake with the word Welcome in uppercase.

The former newcomer can’t hold back a grimace of annoyance. Garcia can’t but celebrate the entry of a person in the team; pity that she hadn’t reserved such a consideration to him. Indeed, all the opposite. He notices with horror that he is jealous of her. Every smile, every minimal gesture that the woman dedicates to Simmons, is unbearable.

He doesn’t even listen to the usual proclamations and so he is taken aback when a female hand is resting on his shoulder.

-Are we going, Luke?- he nods only, fearing what he might unwittingly say.

 He opens the door trying to make as little noise as possible. It's night. He doesn’t want to wake his partner. He climbs the stairs moving like a thief or an assailant and the idea almost makes him laugh, risking ruining everything. Arrived at the last step he almost falls due to a toy; he bites his tongue not to say a dirty word.

He opens the door and contemplates his children sleeping for a few seconds, then moves into the bedroom and does the same with his wife. Then he undresses, wears his pajamas and finally slips under the covers.

Sigh of joy.

This is home.

 -Are you sure everything's ok?- they're waiting for the elevator together. The ex-newcomer tries to keep his distance for what he is allowed by a wheelchair; he begins to strongly hate this machine. It makes him feel too vulnerable and made him discover what it feels like to have Penelope Garcia in their everyday life, knowing that it will end too soon and that it isn’t enough anyway. -Do you need help later, with Roxy?- the woman asks after waiting for the answer to the first question, in vain. She doesn’t understand his strange attitude of these last hours.

-No.- he finally answers, always closed. She looks up and pretends nothing. Silence, they only hear the buzz of the elevator that is coming. Finally, the doors open. They go up, he avoids her help and Penelope doesn’t know what to think. They remain silent for a few seconds, then she blurts out: -Listen, what's your problem? Say it immediately and let's get it over.- she puts her arms crossed and forces him to look at her.

-Nothing...- he begins in an unconvincing tone. -just that... when Prentiss came back you gave her a toast, Walker… you welcomed him with open arms- he had a hard time saying that name -and Simmons... you gave him a welcome party- she starts to guess where he wants to go, but she lets him end. -I'm the only one who didn’t have this honor.- he closes his eyes and shakes his head, just wanting that the doors open and can go down. In any case he can’t drive, so he will not easily get rid of the woman.

Penelope has a smug smile on her face. -Oh no, no, I can’t believe it!- she exclaims with exaggerated tone and theatrical way. -You are... jealous of the attention I gave to Matt?- it annoys him that she called him for his own name. -You are completely out of it, a little sounder- she warns him that they have reached the parking floor. He pushes the wheelchair outside and heads for his car. -But you know that he has four children?- she emphasizes the number.

He sighs, desperate. He should have found a way to restrain himself, but it's too late now. -Of course, I know, I'm the godfather of the twins.- he confesses. She is so surprised that she stops and stands in front of him to scrutinize his expression more carefully and catch him in the face of a lie. -It's a great friend of mine, we've known each other since the days of the academy...- she starts walking again and then helps him to settle in the passenger seat. He no longer opens his mouth halfway and the blonde decides to respect his colleague's silence. -I've known him for a long time.- he suddenly begins to speak, while they are still at an intersection. -So no, I'm not jealous of him.- she turns to look at him confused.

-But then…- he doesn’t give her the chance to reply and even the light turns green. She press the foot on the clutch, then on the accelerator.

Luke sighs, totally resigned. -I'm jealous of you.- he no longer has the courage to look at her and not even her. -Now, please, if you want me at least a shred of love, don’t say anything, leave me at home, slip away and... forget what I told you.- she nods, but knows she will not.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies  @kiki-krakatoa  @gcchic @arses21434 @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta  @skisun  @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 16: Caro Mio Addio

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: A last goodbye.

Chapter Warnings: Past Serious Injury, Leaving Loved Ones Behind

Thomas, can you hear me? C’mon kiddo, you’re gonna be okay, just wake up!

Do not worry, Patton. While some health complications are to be expected, he was only exposed to the extreme conditions of space for six point five seconds, well below the threshold for death.

Do you remember in that one movie when the guy got blown out the airlock and he turned blue and swelled up until his eyes popped out of his head and he exploded?

Oh my god, can you shut up???

Hold up guys, I think he’s coming to.

You groan, blinking as your vision fades in and out of focus.

“Thomas? Can you hear me?” It’s Roman’s voice, you think, and you look up at the others, a rainbow of colors shining down at you.

“M’good,” you slur. “Actually, everything hurts, but what else is new.”

“We need to get him to a MedPod!” Virgil says. “We don’t know how badly hurt he is. He could be dying!”

“A wise course of action,” Logan says. “I believe the closest is-”

“Wait,” you grunt. You take a deep breath, fighting to stay conscious. “Hold up, guys. There’s one- one thing we need... to do first.”

You look down to where Patton is still cradled in your arms.

“Wha- me?” Patton says.

You nod, instantly regretting it when your head bursts into pain. “There’s one more core to be added, before you’re complete.”

Patton looks back and forth between you and where the other Cores are gathered, then rapidly shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t. Not after all of that.”

“Sure you can,” Roman says.

Patton shakes his head even harder. “You never should have chosen me-”

“No, we were right to pick you,” you say.

“What? No, how can you-”

“We were right,” you repeat, as firmly as you can manage while barely conscious. You smile faintly at Patton. “We were wrong to pick only one person, but we were right to think you’d be the one who could resist the corruption. Because you were.”

“But I didn’t!” Patton practically wails. “I nearly destroyed the facility, I- I hurt you-”

“But in the end,” you say, “You chose to let Janus replace you, so the-”

A fresh wave of pain hits and you close your eyes against it, hissing through your teeth. When you open them again the others are giving you concerned looks, but you just take a deep breath and press on.

“-so the facility could be saved.”

“And you weren’t even trying to kill Thomas!” Roman says. “The other two tried to kill him like the whole time. That’s gotta count for something!”

“Right, he only tried to kill me,” Janus drawls. “Totally different.”

“Of course it is!” Virgil says. “You tried to kill us first. Payback’s a-”

“The point,” Logan interjects, “Is that despite your missteps as head of the facility, you ultimately demonstrated the ability to give up your power, despite being under rather extreme influence to do otherwise.”

“They’re gonna need you, Pat,” you say. “They need their Morality.”

Patton trembles in your hands, rattling faintly.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “If that’s what you all want, then I’d do it. I’ll join you.”

The others give cheers and words of encouragement as the robotic body lowers to your level. You carefully press Patton against the final port, feeling a click as he locks into place.

Task done and energy spent, you let your hands fall as the world fades into unconsciousness yet again.

Music is the first thing you’re aware of: a cheery tune playing on loop, coming from somewhere nearby. You groan and shift slightly, feeling too comfortable to want to move. You blink your eyes open and squint at the bright light as the clear covering above you slides open.

“Dim that light!” someone barks. “And will someone turn off that god-awful music?”

“I dunno, it’s kinda grown on me,” someone else says, but after a moment the music stops and the light above you dims.

As the spots in your vision clear you see several familiarly round shapes peering down at you.

“Thomas?”

You groan and push yourself to a seated position. You’re in the same room as you were before, but it looks substantially different. The holes in the ceiling have been patched, and colorful tiles have been added to the walls, breaking up their sterile appearance.

A metal grabby arm comes out from the ground, and you flinch as it comes near, but it just deposits a soft blanket around your shoulders before disappearing again. You pull it tighter around yourself as you look at the others.

“How are you feeling, Thomas?” Logan says gently.

You pat down your front, marveling at the lack of pain. “Surprisingly, pretty okay.”

“We were really worried for a bit there, kiddo,” Patton says, “but you should be right as a rainbow now. The healing chamber didn’t even give you another nipple!”

You self-consciously feel at your chest, then glance down when you feel soft fabric in place of your dirty old tester uniform. You didn’t notice before in your haste to check for injuries, but you’re now wearing a simple tee shirt and sweatpants, both emblazoned with the Aperture Science logo. You decide you’re going to be appreciative of the more comfortable clothes and not think about a group of ball-shaped robots seeing you naked.

Speaking of certain metal balls…

You look up and get a good look at the others for the first time. You don’t know what you expected- Janus’ snake-like body with everyone else latched onto the side, maybe- but instead the mechanical form in front of you looks almost like an upside-down tree. The long, flexible body forms the “trunk,” but instead of continuing until it reaches the Core at the end it instead splits into six about halfway down, each of the Cores appearing to operate one part independently of the others. It should look almost bizarre, but instead you find there’s a strange sort of beauty to it.

“And… you guys?” you say, almost afraid to ask.

“Our behavior seems to be within acceptable parameters,” Logan says. “There have also been no attempts at murder or kidnapping so far, though with the only human unconscious I am unable to say for sure if this was due to lack of human subjects.”

“Naw, there’s plenty of things around we could still murder!” Remus says. “Turrets, plants, that bird that flew in before we fixed the roof, each other…”

“But we’re not doing that,” Roman says pointedly.

“Nope!” Remus agrees cheerfully. “Fun to imagine, though!”

You can’t help it; you break into a smile, then a laugh.

“Hm,” Janus says with exaggerated seriousness, “It looks as though we may have corrupted Thomas this time. Such a dark sense of humor, Thomas!”

“You’re part of me, so what does that say about you?” you say, still smiling.

“Clearly, I am the superior part,” Janus says snottily.

Virgil snorts. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Well I think you’re all pretty great!” Patton says.

“Right back at you, Pops,” Roman says, but Patton just ducks his head and doesn’t respond.

That’s a wound that’s probably going to take some time to heal, you think. But Patton is probably the strongest person you know, er well, the strongest person you’ve met since you woke, and he has the others now. He’ll be alright.

You stand, wobbling a bit before steadying yourself, and take a few steps across the room. You don’t know if it’s the healing chamber or just getting hydration, nutrition and sleep, but you’re actually feeling pretty good, all things considered.

You look back at the others and smile. “You patched me real good. Thanks, guys.”

“Technically, the healing chamber did all the work,” Logan says, then adds on, “but you’re welcome after Patton pointedly clears his throat.

“Thomas,” Roman says with uncertainty in his voice, “I know you just woke up, but… do you know what you’re going to do now?”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face. A few days ago you would have answered “get out of here as soon as possible,” but a lot has changed since then. You’ve found friends- family really- and are loath to leave them. But at the same time, you’re not sure you could survive spending the rest of your life in this place.

“Give me a few days?” you say tentatively.

“Of course,” Janus says. “Tell us whenever you’re ready.”

And so for the next week or so, you stay. You eat canned meals and vitamin supplements, sing and dance with Roman and the others, monitor everyone for any signs of negative influence and have long discussions about the hundreds of humans still suck in cryosleep and the best, most humane ways to wake them.

It’s… good. It feels nice to be around these people- these parts of you- without the constant threat of death hanging over your head.

And yet, by the end of the week you find yourself packing a satchel full of food and survival equipment, and then trekking up to the Control Chamber to see the others.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” Janus says flatly, as soon as he sees your face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love all of you, and if I could stay with you and be happy I would. But it would kill me to live my life here. I want to see the sky.”

The Cores all exchange looks, then Patton says, “we understand.”

“You’re welcome back anytime you want to visit,” Virgil says. “Not that anyone ever really visits Aperture, but if you’re in the neighborhood…”

“I’ll look you up,” you say, the thought bringing a smile to your face.

“Virge,” you say, “I’m really glad I met you. You’ve saved my life so many times, and taught me so much about myself. I’m never going to think of my anxiety the same way again.”

“Doofus,” Virgil mutters, but he’s smiling so you call it a win.

You turn to Patton next.

“Thomas,” he says, “I’m so sorry for everything, again. I just knew everyone was counting on me, and I got it into my head that I couldn’t fail, no matter what.”

“But you can fail,” you say, directing your smile towards him. “Because someone is always gonna be there to catch you.”

Patton bends down, and you gather him into a hug. “I’ll miss you, Thomas,” he says.

You hug tighter, ignoring the metal digging into your arms. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Next, you go to Roman. “You’ll need to have many more adventures, for me,” he says, chuckling wetly.

“Same to you,” you say, trying really hard at this point not to choke up yourself. “Always remember how special you are, okay?”

“I will,” Roman says, “I swear it.”

You turn to Logan. “Logan, you’ve been my rock this whole time. I don’t know where any of us would be right now without you.”

Logan makes a noise like clearing his throat, as if self-conscious. “You also have taught me much, Thomas. I am honored to be a part of you.”

You don’t turn to Remus so much as have him tackle-hug you.

“I heard there are nasty looking aliens out there,” he says. “Kill one for me?”

You laugh again. “You know what? If I can handle things in here, I can handle a few aliens.”

And finally, there’s Janus, fully restored in his black-and-yellow casing. For a moment you stare at each other, neither sure exactly what to say. Then you say, “I know we started off a bit rough, but I’m really glad to have known you. I consider you a friend.”

“The same to you,” Janus says, and this time you know he isn’t lying.

You hold out the portal gun. “Thank you for letting me use this- even though you originally intended to kill me and get it back.”

“Keep it,” Janus says softly. “It will be harder to use outside, but not impossible. Around him the others all nod their agreement, and that’s when the tears come.

“Goodbye,” you say as you step into the elevator and the doors close behind you. “Goodbye.”

Halfway up, the elevator slows and the door opens. In front of you is a massive chamber absolutely full of turrets, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re about to die, before you see that none of them are shooting or even aiming.

The turrets begin to sway their side flaps back and forth, and sounds of music come from them, halting at first but growing in strength and complexity as more join in. Then, a voice comes in with the melody, apparently from nowhere- a rich baritone, strikingly similar to your own.

Roman.

Another voice joins it, similar to Roman’s but with a distinct rasp that you know belongs to Virgil. More voices add to the song: Patton’s, clear and gentle like a lullaby; Logan’s, starting out pitchy but growing in strength and certainty as he continues; Janus, dark and smooth as chocolate, and finally Remus rounding out the harmonies in a nasal tenor. It’s a song of farewell, one that grows to a crescendo as your elevator once again begins to rise, before coming to a gentle resolution as the elevator arrives at its destination.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as the elevator doors open, revealing another door that slowly swings open to reveal light too warm and bright to be anything artificial. You look back over your shoulder one more time as you let your eyes adjust.

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper, not sure if the others can still here you but still wanting to try. “Goodbye.”

Then you step out into the light, and for the first time you can remember, see bright blue sky.